


=> Dave: Get Stuck

by LPSunnyBunny



Series: => Dave: Be An Avenger [1]
Category: Homestuck, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Minor amnesia, POV Second Person, SHIELD Life, Unreliable Narrator, universe jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPSunnyBunny/pseuds/LPSunnyBunny
Summary: Dave crash lands in a new universe. Time to figure a way home.Tags will update as they become relevant.





	1. => Dave: Crash Land

=> Dave: Crash Land

 

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you have no idea where you are. More importantly, though, you feel like your head is about to split open from the force of the migraine splitting your skull. Like some jackass clown pulled on a pair of tap shoes and decided to dance a mambo right over your prefrontal cortex, giving you an extra hard axe-kick of a fuck you to your squishy organ.

 

When the agony starts to clear, you become vividly aware of a handful of things, the biggest and most important being your shades are nowhere to be found, and you don’t mean to seem weak or anything but even a cool guy of your caliber can’t help the unease that flutters into your breastbone like a delicate Victorian woman wringing her hands over the bachelorette status of her eldest daughter who refuses to get married.

 

As you clamber to your feet, wincing at the harsh sun that hurts your unprotected eyes, you are able to see more of your surroundings. You seem to have been thrown into the side of what looked like a grassy hill, a long dirt trail suggesting you had been launched from somewhere, hit the ground like a meteor, and slid like the ground was a slip-n-slide. 

 

You turn in a slow circle, trying to get your bearings as you reach for your sylladex, popping a new set of shades onto your face. Of course you always have backups, what kind of self-respecting cool guy didn’t? Your unease settles from ‘dangerously high’ to ‘mildly alarming’ as your vision dims in that familiar, comforting way.

 

Looking out along the grassy plains, you can see what looks like a farm in the distance. With nothing else in sight, you make the easy decision to start walking towards it. In the meantime, though, you open up pesterchum to try and talk to anyone you could.

 

Huh. That’s weird.

 

All of your friend’s handles are there but when you attempt to send any of them messages, all you get back is “This user does not exist”. 

 

One-by-one you go down the list, attempting to contact each and every one of your contacts, even Gamzee, and hell- you’re starting to get a bit nervous, so you even throw in a message to the trolls you know are dead. 

 

The result is the same with each and every one. This user does not exist. 

 

You decide to compartmentalize your panic like the coolest, most ice-cold, chill boss in existence. Panic has no place in your system because it would literally just get frozen out, the little bits of panic getting turned into rad icicles because that’s just how calm and collected you are.

 

As you are very busy not panicking, you realize you have made it to the farm. You pick your way up the driveway, to the cozy-looking two story home, strolling past a garden of sunflowers that are practically taller than you are. 

 

You hop up onto the porch, raising one hand to knock at the front door. You wait as a dog starts to howl, and after a minute the door is creaking open, a young boy peeking up at you as a large mutt prances back and forth behind him, still singing a tune. You instinctively give him a nod as your time bullshit whispers in the back of your head.

 

That’s… weird. You can’t hear it. You can  _ feel  _ it, and you know what it would usually be doing, rattling off the kid’s age right down to the ever-increasing second, but for the moment you chose to ignore the fact that it’s not as front-and-center as usual.

 

“Sup, little man?” You say reflexively. “Are your parents home?” 

 

The kid, a cute dark-skinned boy with messy black hair and these big brown eyes, shakes his head.

 

“Are you here for the horse?” He asks innocently.

 

“Nah, dude.” You can’t help but feel a bit of exasperation, but you weren't about to take it out on this kid. It wasn’t his fault his parents weren’t there. “I’m just kinda lost, you feel me? I was hoping somebody might be able to point me in the direction of civilization. Or a shower.” You make a show of raising your arms and sniffing your armpits. Your white suit is hopelessly stained with dirt and grass. It’s probably a goner.

 

The kid giggles a little.

 

“You’re lost?” He asks, opening the door a little more. The dog takes advantage of the open door, bolts through it, and leaps at you, tail wagging like crazy. “No, Holden! Bad!” The kid scolds the dog, but it doesn’t listen.

 

You chuckle, giving it a couple pats on the head.    
  
“Aw, it’s okay. Yeah, I’m pretty lost, kinda like a kid in a cornfield maze.” You confirm, nudging the dog away from you with a foot. “Any idea when your parents are gonna be home?” 

 

“Pop’s not gonna be home until tomorrow, and Ma went to the store.” The kid says, now slouching against the door frame. 

 

“Aw shit.” You sigh a little. You were hoping for a bit more of ‘yeah in like ten minutes’ response. “I guess I can just wait out here, then. Stranger danger and all that.” 

 

You plop down on the single step, idly patting pushing the dog away as it makes a valiant attempt to lick your face. There’s a pause, then the kid is sitting down next to you, looking up at you in mild confusion.

 

“Sup.” You say again. He looks down at your clothing.

 

“Are you a realtor?” The kid asks, a strange amount of suspicion in his tone that legit catches you off guard.

 

“A- realtor? Nah little dude I’m just lost.” You said. “What makes you think I’m a realtor?”

 

“Cause you’re wearing what the realtors usually wear.” The kid says stubbornly, puffing out his cheeks. His heels are kicking in the dirt a little, shoving it around.

 

“Nah, nah.” You chuckle a little despite yourself. “I’m no realtor. Those dudes are pretty awful, aren’t they?” You pause a little, despite yourself. Are they? “Or at least that’s what everyone in media seems to portray them as. These big mean guys with slicked back hair coming to take innocent people’s homes and livelihoods. The big bad of basically any hallmark movie, shown up in the end.”

 

The kid shrugs.

 

“They’re weird.” He said, wrinkling his nose. “They always talk way too fast and use big words.”

 

You realize you still don’t know this kid’s name.

 

“Hey little man, what’s your name?”

 

“Kevin. You?”

 

“I’m Dave.” You hold your fist out to him. He bumps it. This kid knows whats up. “Nice to meet you, Kevin. You like living on a farm?” God. Shoot you now. Making smalltalk. Rose would mock you mercilessly forever if she could see you.

 

Kevin shrugs again.

 

“It’s okay. I wish I could have friends over, though. Everyone lives too far away.” 

 

“That sucks. I was the same way.” You commiserate. “All my friends are online.”

 

“What’re they like?” He asks. 

 

“Well, there’s Rose, who’s basically my sister. She’s pretty chill, but she has a weird fondness for mind games.” You start telling Kevin about all your friends.

 

Halfway through talking about Terezi, Kevin jumps to his feet, interrupting you.

 

“Look, Ma’s home!” Kevin says and you can’t even be mad about the interruption because there’s a car pulling up to the house. You rise up to your feet as well, dusting your front off and resisting the urge to tug at your sleeves. 

 

The woman who steps out of the car is, in a single word, intimidating. She’s staring at you through a pair of glasses with a cautiously neutral expression on her face. You guess you can’t blame her, you’d probably be suspicious if some random guy in a dirty suit showed up while you were out and started talking to your kid. 

 

“Hey.” You said as an opener. “So, uh,” 

 

“Kevin can you go back in the house?” The mom says, steamrolling over you. Kevin looks at her expression and wisely makes the decision to abscond. The mom walks up to you. She’s a bit taller than you, but she is a heavyset woman and you have a feeling that if you weren’t, well,  _ you,  _ she could snap you like a twig. Egbert would stand no chance.

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” She asks.

 

“I’m lost.” You decide to be blunt. “I woke up in a field over there and I’m looking to get back to civilization.” 

 

The mom crosses her arms, gives you a once-over, pursing her lips.

 

“Well, I don’t know how much of that I believe but you certainly don’t look like any of Johnson’s boys.” She says after a moment. “Are you staying with one of the families around here?”

 

“Uh, not exactly.” You hedge. You don’t really feel like spilling your whole backstory to this lady about living on a meteor for three years before you…

 

….

 

Before you…. What?

 

Like a cold shock to the system, you realize that there’s a big, fuzzy, hazy part of your memory that you can’t seem to recall. You have a memory of crashing into the new game session, but then there’s just- black. 

 

Is this it? Is this the new game session? Did you just get separated from everyone somehow?

 

Somehow, you feel like this isn’t quite the case. You’re pretty sure the new session wouldn’t dump you in basically fucking nowhere.

 

The mom is looking expectantly at you. You realize she must have said something.

 

“Sorry- uh- could you repeat that?” You ask. 

 

“Is there anyone I can call to pick you up?” She repeats, a touch of concern creeping into her tone. 

 

“Uh- no.” You say after a moment. Your headache is starting to come back. “Sorry, there's- no one.” Anyone to contact would be through pesterchum and you already know that wasn’t working. 

 

Her expression seems to soften a bit. 

 

“Why don’t you come inside.” She says. “We can talk about it- would you like something to eat? It’s past lunch, but I can whip something up.” 

 

Your stomach abruptly makes it very clear that it is very empty and that you would be very stupid to not take the offer. By growling very loudly.

 

The mom laughs a little, relaxing at the noise.

 

“I’m Diana.” She introduces herself, offering her hand. You take it.

 

“Dave.” You say.

 

“Come on in.” She says. “Let’s talk.”

 

You follow her inside after letting her load you up with shopping bags because what else are you supposed to do? Kevin, who had been watching from the window like any kid would, immediately follows the two of you into the kitchen. 

 

Diana shoos you into a seat at the kitchen table and Kevin clambers onto a chair next to you as she starts to put food away into the cupboards.

 

“If you’re not a realtor-” Kevin asks, staring at you intently, “are you an alien?”

 

“Nope.” You say, but that’s an interesting technicality.  _ Are  _ you an alien? If you’re not from wherever this is, doesn’t that make you not a native, IE, an alien? 

 

“I dunno.” Kevin squinted at you. “You could be a bodysnatcher.” He mused. You decide you like this kid.

 

“That’s right, you found me out. I’m a body snatching alien from space who came to take over the planet starting with a family out in the middle of nowhere.” You decide to roll with it. “Maybe if I take a liking to you I won’t start with your body, but I dunno, you seem like a pretty powerful kid. If I’m not careful I might get the tables turned on me and you’d defeat me and save all of humanity.” 

 

Kevin’s eyes go wide.

 

“Kevin, come help me.” Diana says before Kevin can say anything else, and he pouts a bit but slides off the chair to help his mom. 

 

You would offer to help but you don’t know where anything goes, so sitting awkwardly at the table it is. You sit back like a chump and watch as Diana and Kevin put stuff away in the age-old dance of ‘take this and put it somewhere’.

 

“So, where are you from?” Diana asked, after a moment. 

 

“Uh.” Your brain blanks. You can’t exactly say  _ well I’m from not this universe  _ like a weirdo. “Texas.” Your mouth says without your permission. 

 

“Texas, huh?” Diana gives you a look. “Awfully far from home. What made you come all the way up to Ohio?” 

 

Oh shit, is that where you are? Ohio?

 

“Well, you know.” You say, trying to adopt a disaffected shrug. You’re cool. This isn’t weird at all, finding out that you’re in Ohio. Definitely not. Anyone thinking otherwise is just plain wrong. “I’m just kind of a wandering soul. Going where the wind takes me.” 

 

Wow. Even for an ironic joke that one sucked ass. Diana clearly thinks so too, her expression taking on a disbelieving quality. 

 

“Are you some kind of fancy cowboy, then?” Kevin asks, peeking over the edge of the table at you. He’s holding onto it and resting his nose on the wood like a baby version of Kilroy. 

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” you agree. “I’m a genuine cowboy, only I lost all my cattle. Some ruffian came and stole them away.” 

 

Kevin giggles.

 

“So, where are you headed then, Mr. Wandering Soul?” Diana asked, her suspicion softening in the face of Kevin’s delight. You shrug.

 

“I have no idea.” You say. “I’m just kind of- wandering.” It rings false to you, but you’re actually not entirely sure what you’re doing here. 

 

“Well,” Diana starts to say, but there’s a knock on the door. It’s a firm, but polite, knock, and yet it raises the hair on the back of your neck. 

 

Diana frowns a bit, but goes to answer the door. Kevin sidles over to your side.

 

“If you’re a cowboy, where’s your gun?” He asks suspiciously. You don’t answer him, though, listening in to the conversation that’s happening at the door.

 

“Can I help you, Mr…?”

 

“Coulson. Please, call me Phil. I’m here in an official capacity for the Science Association of the Midwest.”

 

“Well, I’m not really sure how I can help you-”

 

“Don’t worry, I just need to ask a few questions. Is it okay if I come in?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you into my home.”

 

“That’s alright, it’s just a couple of questions. It makes no difference to me where you answer them.” There was a pause. Kevin tugged at your sleeve, and you quietly pat his head, looking at him and putting a finger to your lips. Kevin’s eyes go wide, and he nods.

 

“-of hours ago we got an extremely unusual energy spike just south of your farm.” Phil was saying as you tuned back into the conversation. “Did you see anything unusual? Strange weather patterns?”

 

“No, I was at the store.” Diana sounded a little confused. “But when I came back about a half hour ago everything seemed okay.”

 

“And you or your family don’t have any kind of weird projects going on? Nothing to do with, say, large magnets or maybe an experiment for school with microwaves?”

 

“No, nothing like that.”

 

Coulson made a thoughtful noise.

 

“I see. Well, thank you for your time. I’m sure it was just a strange reaction with the weather. There’s a cold snap moving in, so be sure to stay warm. If you do see or experience anything strange, please give us a call. I’m sure we’d love to hear about it from a scientific standpoint.” 

 

Something makes you stand from the chair. You leave the kitchen and walk to the door. 

 

“Well, thank you.” Diana said, accepting a card. “I’ll be sure to-”

 

“Who are you?” You ask, looking at the unassuming man standing there in a suit. It’s hazy, your time sense squirming away from your grasp, but his timeline is……. weird. 

 

“I’m sorry?” He looks right at you, a polite frown on his face.

 

“Are you government?” You ask, and it’s like you’ve been possessed. Something urgent is fluttering in your chest. There’s something you’re  _ supposed  _ to do, but you can’t remember. Why can’t you remember?

 

“Dave, go back in the kitchen please.” Diana says, but you take a step forwards instead, ignoring her. She’s not your mom. She’s just some random lady you met.

 

“What’s your name?” Coulson asks. Avoiding the question.

 

“Dave Strider.” You say. “Are you government?” You repeat. 

 

“I’m with the Science-”

 

“You want to know about those readings?” The words come pouring out of your mouth. “I could tell you about them. I could tell you a lot of things. There are a lot of things I know.”   
  


Coulson’s expression is different, now. There’s a look in his eye. Interested.

 

“But if you want me to be honest with you, you gotta be honest with me, you understand?” You continue. Something is pushing you on, telling you to do this. Something in your chest, fluttering. “So I’ll ask again and I want the truth.  _ Are you government?” _

 

The silence hangs for a moment. It’s heavy. 

 

“Of a sort.” Coulson says, inclining his head towards you slightly. “Mr. Strider-”

 

“Dave.” You correct him.

 

“-Dave,” he corrects himself without hesitation, “I’m part of a government task force. SHIELD, we call ourselves.”

 

“That’s a dumb name.” You can’t help but say. 

 

“It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” Coulson explains. “It’s symbolic.”

 

“So either you say a boring name or one that’s way too many syllables.” You comment. 

 

“Yes.” A hint of a smile pulls at his mouth. “But it is what it is. We handle national and global threats that ordinary agencies might not be able to.” He looks at Diana, who seems tongue-tied, then back to you. “If you would like to come with me, we can discuss it further.” He offers. 

 

You accept. It’s not even a hard decision. You give a jaunty wave over your shoulder to Diana and Kevin as you follow Mr. Secret Agent back to his car. 


	2. => Dave: Accompany This Weird Dude

=> Dave: Obey Stranger Danger

 

What are you, five? You can take care of yourself.

 

You follow Coulson out to his black car and slide into the passenger seat. Kevin is watching from the porch so you flash him a quick finger gun. He waves, Diana looking worried in the doorway.

 

You have a feeling you’re never going to see these people again.

 

Coulson pulls away from the farm and starts driving down the road.

 

“So, what, no interrogation?” You say, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard. Coulson doesn’t seem to be bothered by this. “I would’ve thought that you’d immediately start trying to grill me for details.”

 

“Dave.” Coulson says patiently, eyes on the road. A studious driver, this one is. “Do you know what kind of readings we got with whatever happened earlier today?” 

 

“I can guess, but enlighten me anyway. I want to see how much you guys know.” You suggest.

 

“Readings similar to interspace wormhole travel.” Coulson says. You feel your eyebrows raise. Maybe some of the others are here? “You are not the first off-world visitor we have encountered.”

 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, trying not to sound too interested, your heart abruptly slamming against your ribs. “Who else have you encountered?” 

 

Coulson smiles a little, but says nothing. Wow. That’s annoying. 

 

“Come on hombre, this is a quid pro quo situation.” You try to prompt him to answer. “I feed you a little, you feed me a little, going round and round in a strange ouroboros of informational vore.”

 

“Don’t worry.” Coulson says. “Everything will be explained in a more secure location.”

 

“What, so we’re going to super secret spy land?” you guess. “Neat.” 

 

=> Coulson: Explain Anyway

 

You can’t be Coulson because that’s not how this story works! You’re locked purely onto the Dave path for now.

 

Instead, you elect to look out the window and watch the farmland go by. 

 

“So,” you say, “is the super secret spy top headquarters in Ohio?” 

 

“Oh, no.” Coulson says mildly in return. “Not our  _ top  _ headquarters. But who would look for a spy agency in Ohio?”

 

He… has a point, actually. When you think of spy headquarters, you think of places like New York. London. Busy metropolis where it can get hidden under your nose. 

 

“Well this is going to be a boring as fuck drive.” You finally say. 

 

In response, Coulson reaches over and flips the radio on. Cheesy pop starts to filter into the car. You wrinkle your nose in response.

 

“Not to your style?” Coulson asks.

 

“Nah, not really.” You say. “I’m more of a rap guy.” 

 

“You can change it if you want.” Coulson offers. You side-eye him, thankful for your shades, but reach over and start fiddling with the radio, flicking it through stations. After a bit of searching, you settle it on a station that sounds, if not nice, then at least it’s acceptable. 

 

You settle back in to let the drive go by, closing your eyes behind your shades. Your fingers tap lightly on your leg in time to the music. 

 

The drive was peaceful, punctuated only by the twists and turns of the road. Eventually, though, the car comes to a stop and you open your eyes as Coulson steps out of the car.

 

In front of you is another farm. What did you expect? It’s Ohio. 

 

You exit the car after Coulson and shove your hands in your pockets, sauntering after him. He ignores the main house, walking straight to the large barn. 

 

Oooooooookay..?

 

He doesn’t even look back to see if you’re following, just steps inside, and you step after him and  _ holy fuck thats a cool-ass jet. _

 

You play it cool, sauntering after Coulson as he walks towards the jet. The back opens automatically as he approaches and he turns to give you a neutral look. You take the cue and follow him into the jet.

 

The inside is sleek, black, and out of basically every spy movie ever. You don’t even jump as the ramp hisses shut behind you. That’s how predictably cliche is it. What wasn’t predictable was the man in the pilot’s chair, sitting sideways with his legs thrown over the arm, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t even glance up as he asks,

 

“Hey boss man, who’s the plus one?” 

 

You guess he’s the reason Coulson wasn’t bothered by your feet on the dash. 

 

“Dave Strider. He’s our guest.” Coulson gives the man a look that says  _ Behave.  _ The man just grins at Coulson, unrepentant.

 

“Dave, this is Agent Barton.” Coulson introduced the two of you. You give him a nod. 

 

“Sup.” You say. Barton gives you a nod in return. Why does that name sound familiar? Whatever. If it’s important you’ll figure it out.

 

“Where to, Coulson?” Barton swings his feet off of the chair, sitting up properly.

 

“O.H. R&D.” Coulson tells him, then looks at you and motions to the row of seats. “You’ll want to buckle in.” 

 

You take a seat. Coulson sits across the row and one over from you. You appreciate the fact that you won’t be bumping knees. He doesn’t put on his seatbelt, though. 

 

You decide not to buckle in. If Mr. Cool Spy Agent can do it, then so can you. You just spread your legs a bit, idly bracing your feet on the floor. 

 

“Take us up, Barton.” Coulson says.

 

=> Barton: Take Them Up

 

Again, that’s not how the story works. But regardless of commands, Barton does, infact, bring the jet out of the barn and take off. It was probably really cool looking from the outside, but seeing as you are on the inside of the jet, you didn’t get to see it.

 

Instead, you just chill the fuck out, tapping a rhythm idly out on your leg. You poke at your time sense and suppress a wince. It feels like one big bruise, a big tender area in your brain that if you press too hard will only make you regret it.

 

Maybe it was the crash landing into this planet, but somehow you don’t think so. You’re pretty sure that something else is going on with your Godtier powers, because normally your time sense is ever-present and all-consuming. 

 

Right now it’s… not. Like something herded it into a corner and put a fence around it. It feels contained.

 

You try not to let it unnerve you. You fail. Something is seriously wack with your time powers right now.

 

Surreptiously, you take a look at Coulson. There had been something weird with his timeline, right? You know, the whole reason you even went with the dude? You squint into that weird space, Coulson’s timeline beginning to take shape in front of your eyes, much much slower than normal.

 

His goddamn timeline’s a mess. It looked like someone took it and started writing cursive. Actually, now that you look at it, it does almost look like someone did. All loops and twists and-

 

You lose your grasp on your sight and his timeline vanishes like a rubber band snapping away. Only it snapped into your brain and now your head is aching. 

 

Coulson doesn’t seem to notice anything as you tilt your head back to rest against the back of your seat. But  _ ow fuck  _ you feel like you just went a round with Bro and took a blow to the head.

 

You’ve barely begun to contemplate the idea of just yanking at your powers and seeing what happens when the jet touches down. Hey, what, that was only a eight minute trip? You can’t help the flicker of relief and annoyance as your time sense informs you, no, that trip was eight minutes, forty-seven seconds, twelve and a half milli- okay that’s enough. 

 

It’s a relief and a curse, really. 

 

Oh, you’re moving now.

 

You follow Coulson and Barton out of the jet and onto the roof of a building that… actually just looks like an office building, really. Except there’s a landing platform on the roof.    
  
How do you land a jet without a runway? You wonder.

 

“How do you land a jet without a runway?” You ask, milliseconds later.

 

“Oh, it’s got vertical flight capacities.” Barton answers easily as the two of you amble after Coulson as he crosses the roof to a door. There are no guards or anything. It’s a little weird. Wouldn’t you expect there to be secret agents everywhere?

 

“What, so like-” You mime an up-and-down motion, “just lower straight down?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Useful.”

 

“Yup.”

 

You follow after Coulson. 

 

=> Dave: Get Taken To A Conference Room

 

I mean you have no real power over that, but sure.

 

You follow Coulson through an unassuming office hall, past windows that show people working at cubicles. It’s very… office. It makes your skin crawl a bit, seeing all those adults just… working in a drab environment. 

 

It’s almost a relief when you enter the conference room, Coulson taking a seat at a long conference table near the middle of the chairs. Barton drops into one of the end table positions after shutting the door, leaning back in the chair and adopting a relaxed pose, and you give him a side-eye.

 

Is this like an undercover boss situation? Is he actually someone high up but they’re pretending he’s not.

 

Whatever. Not your problem.

 

You plop down into a seat on the other side of the table from Coulson.

 

“Alright, Dave.” He says pleasantly. “Let’s talk.” 

 

Oh boy, here we go.


	3. => Dave: Talk

=> Dave: Talk

 

“Sure, let’s talk.” You say. “I’m all about talking. Open communication master, that’s me. I practically authored the book on talking. Need help with your girlfriend? Boom. Talking’s the answer. Trying to get that new job? Boom. Open communication.”

 

Barton gave a snort of amusement.

 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Coulson says, and you think you can see a faint twitch of amusement around his mouth. Master of the poker face, this one is. If yours wasn’t better, you would almost be impressed. “Let’s start with the basics, then. Your name is Dave Strider?”

 

“Born and raised.” You agree. You’re not really sure how much you trust these secret agent men, you’ve seen the movies, but hey. If they can help find your friends then you might as well work with them, right?

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“Alternia.”  Two truths and a lie time. Come on, secret agent man, show me your stuff. You got lie detectors? Is your poker face better than mine?

 

Coulson, to his credit, doesn’t even blink.

 

“And where is that?” He asks.

 

“Texas. But like. Alien Texas.” 

 

Coulson actually does pause at that. There’s the tiniest squint around his eyes. It’s incredibly gratifying.

 

“Alien Texas?” Barton asks, amused.

 

“Yup.” You lean back in your chair. “Spend all day on our alien ranch lassoing moobeasts and collecting eggs from cluckbeasts. Fighting off aliens and members of our own race who want to steal our livestock.”

 

“Mr. Strider-” Coulson starts,

 

“Dave.” You correct him again.

 

“Dave,” Coulson corrects himself without pause, “I would appreciate if you would be truthful with us.”  

 

“Sure thing. I really am from Texas. But like. Not not-your-mommas-Texas.” 

 

“Alien Texas.” Barton repeats. 

 

“Sort of.” You shrug. “Not really that alien. It’s more like other-universe alien.”

 

“You’re a cross-universe traveler?” Coulson asks.

 

Ah, what the hell. In for a penny, in for a dollar or however that saying goes.

 

“Yup.” You swing about, kicking your heels up onto the conference table. “Crash landed here and got separated from my friends. You seen any of them?”

 

“Tall, extremely muscled, blond, ruggedly handsome?” Barton suggests. 

 

Uh. Unless John turned into like Arnold Schwarzenegger or something in the three years you haven’t seen him, you’re pretty sure that describes exactly zero of your friends.

 

“Doesn’t sound like any of mine.” You say. 

 

“Interesting.” Coulson says. “Are you referring to ‘universe’ as in the multiverse theory or ‘universe’ as in ‘other realms’?”

 

“What, like pathfinder?” You say. You have no idea what pathfinder is. “But nah, I’m talking like actual multiverse shit, probably.”

 

“Probably?” 

 

“Probably.” You shrug. “I’m not too sure. It’s complicated.”

 

“I like complicated.” Coulson says mildly.

 

“Not this kind of complicated.” You warn. “Besides, it’s a long story. Complicated enough to make anyone lose their mind, twisted up into knots trying to understand the whole thing.” You shrug. “Even I don’t understand all of it.” Mostly because you can’t remember the last chunk. You’ll leave that detail out.

 

“We have time.” Coulson doesn’t have any kind of notepad or recorder. Does he just have perfect memory or something? You don’t see any cameras in the room, either. The entire situation feels very… off.

 

“Not this kind of time.” You say. “Anyway, whatever. I’ll summarize. My friends and I were on Earth. Doomsday comes. We escape through a set of harrowing and deadly set of circumstances. We do some shit. We meet some aliens. We make a journey.” You give a little careless shrug. “I crash-landed here. I assume my friends did the same.” 

 

“You’re saying your original Earth was destroyed?” Coulson clarifies.

 

“Oh yeah. Pummeled by meteors. It’s kaput.” You make a little explosion with hands. “No more Earth.” It’s really more complicated than that, but whatever. Not important.

 

“Interesting.” Coulson comments. “Are you and your friends searching for a permanent residency here on this Earth, then?”

 

Are you? You have no idea. Amnesia, remember?

 

You shrug.

 

“I’d have to find them and talk with them first.” You say. Stay vague, Strider. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep. Or any promises at all, really.

 

“Understandable.” Coulson says. He laces his fingers together on the table and gives you a serious look.

 

“Do you, Dave Strider, have any kind of ill intent or negative feelings towards the Earth as a whole, or any kind of machinations to rule or take over sections of the world with hostile intent or methods, including levels such as local, state, national, international, or worldwide?” 

 

What the fuck kind of question was that?

 

“Uh. No?” You say.

 

“Good.” Coulson gives you a mild smile. “And do you, Dave Strider, consent to allowing SHIELD to assist you with assimilation into this Earth, offering you such services as financial support, integration into society, an employment offer, and assistance locating your fellow inter-universal travelers, in exchange for keeping SHIELD’s secrets, assisting our R&D team with knowledge you have of inter-universal travel, and keeping a low profile?”

 

Did he say that all in one breath? Holy shit.

 

“Yeah, sure.” It takes you a moment to respond, but you agree. (It actually takes you 4.8723- okay THANKS-)

 

“Excellent.” Coulson says.

 

“Does that first question ever work?” You ask despite yourself. “Like do you ever get anyone going ‘yes, I’m here to conquer the world! Muwahaha!’?” 

 

“You’d be surprised.” Barton says, and when you glance over at him he’s lightly tossing a stress ball up at the ceiling, then catching it again when it comes down. “Some people have no sense of subtly, you know? They arrive and immediately declare themselves King of All Living Beings (and Dead Ones As Well), Praise Be Unto Me.”

 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. The look Coulson shot him suggested he was, but Barton legitimately sounded like he wasn’t, and something is telling you that he was referencing a legitimate event that happened.

 

“As long as you continue to display no ill-intent, then we will assist you.” Coulson says. 

 

“Cool.” You say. “So, am I the first? I’d assume that if you had found any of my friends before you would have gone through this song and dance already and they would be kicking down the door right about now.” 

 

Coulson inclines his head. 

 

“You are correct.” He says. “We have not encountered any inter-universal travelers searching for their friends.”

 

“What was up with the question about tall blond and muscular, then?” You ask, looking to Barton. 

 

“Oh, he was an intergalactic traveler.” Barton says cheerfully. “Very different thing.”

 

Huh. Well, okay. That… answers your question. You guess.

 

“So what now, then?” 

 

Coulson smiles.

 

=> Dave: Put Up With Weird Scientists

 

What?

 

Coulson leads you to an elevator and the three of you descend into the building. You go down past the ground floor and the numbers start going up again. 

 

Huh. Underground facilities. That’s more spy-ish, you suppose. 

 

You step out into a white hallway with blue accents. Coulson takes the three of you down past some rooms where you can see people working, though you have no clue what they’re doing. Science-y stuff probably.

 

“Harding.” Coulson says, lightly knocking on an open door. A woman looks up, messy black hair pulled into a bun and square glasses perched on her nose. She gives Coulson a  _ look _ , then glares at Barton, then her interested gaze flickers to you.

 

“Who’s this?” She asks. 

 

“Dave Strider. He’s an intergalactic visitor. Run a full check up on him for me.”

 

Oh. Put up with weird scientists. Okay, you get it now. 

 

Harding squints at you. Does she need glasses on top of her glasses or something? 

 

“Okay, full pathogen panel too?” She asks, and Coulson nods.

 

“Full blood work.” He confirms.

 

“Woah, hey, okay, no one said anything about drawing blood.” You say, mildly alarmed by the idea. 

 

“It’s a simple precaution.” Coulson reassures you, but you don’t feel very reassured. “Coming from another place, you might carry new diseases or need vaccines to cover diseases you might not be immune to.”

 

Well that doesn’t sound so bad. 

 

“You’re not going to do anything weird with my blood, right?”

 

Harding gives you an unimpressed look.

 

“Like what?” She asks, retrieving some equipment and laying it out on a tray. Barton laughs from behind you, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

 

“Don’t worry, Dave, the most these guys do around here is put your blood in tiny tubes and spin them around real fast.” He sounds. Way too cheerful. But then again he’s not the one about to get his blood drawn.

 

“Come sit.” Harding says before you can respond to that. Aw, what the hell. Your bro never raised you to turn down free medical shit. You take a seat in the chair Harding is indicating.

 

Four entire vials of blood later, some base physical shit (apparently doctors DO whack your knees with those things, wow, you thought that was just in movies), and a few minor things, Harding drops a bandaid on your arm and shoves the three of you out the door with barely a word for goodbye.

 

“So much for bedside manner, huh?” You say, rubbing your aching forearm. 

 

“Nah, that's medical you’re looking for.” Barton says cheerfully. “These guys just work in labs all day. Their bedside manner is atrocious.”

 

“Okay, so, what now?” You ask, looking to Coulson.

 

=> Dave: Get Taken To An Entirely New Place

 

That is a thing that happens. After working out some details of your “temporary contract” with Coulson (you won’t go wandering into traffic, you’ll agree to stay on base with the junior agents who are just starting, you’ll work with the R&D teams or at least not actively against them, you know, other boring shit) the three of you actually  _ leave the building  _ and take off in the jet again, another ride that takes a lot longer than the first one.

 

So why did you even bother going to the first building? Surely there were people who could process your blood at the new place you were going. Spies are weird.

 

This time you’re in New York, dropped off at a building that  _ did  _ have agents everywhere. When you get there, a woman with red hair is waiting for you, and she passes off a folder of paperwork to Coulson and tosses a badge at you.

 

“Hey Coulson.” She says as you catch the badge easily, looking down at it. It’s just a sleek  black rectangle with some words printed on it. DAVE STRIDER. LEVEL THREE. 002-IUT-427G. “There’s the temp paperwork and the housing arrangements. Barton.” 

 

“Hey Tasha.” Barton says in return as Coulson tucks the folder under his arm. 

 

“I appreciate it.” Coulson says. “Dave, this is Agent Natasha Romanov.” 

 

She gives you a sultry smile. You feel uncomfortable looking at it. You think it’s supposed to look sexy, but it just feels… flat.

 

“That badge is your access pass.” Coulson says, and you look at him instead of having to look at the way that Romanov is looking at you. Is there a pedophilia alarm? Should you be slamming it? “Don’t lose it. It will let you into all the areas that you are allowed and deny you access to places you aren’t.”

 

You nod. Let’s see- Badge? Access Card? You sylladex accepts access card and slots it away. You notice the way Barton stills, his eyes going sharp. He doesn’t say anything, but your skin prickles at his look. Oh boy. Do they not have sylladexes here?

 

“Romanov will show you to your assigned quarters for now.” Coulson says. Oh please no. Don’t leave me with her.

 

“Sure.” You say instead, because you hate yourself. 

 

“Don’t break him, Tasha.” Barton says. Romanov flashes him an amused glance, but steps to your side, putting a hand on your shoulder.

 

“Come along, Dave.” She says, and your skin crawls. Oh Jesus, this is going to be uncomfortable.


	4. => Dave: Settle Into Your New Digs

=> Dave: Settle Into Your New Digs

 

Sure thing. But you need to do something first.

 

Romanov is walking next to you and you are  _ so  _ uncomfortable. She has this- weird sway to her hips, her bodysuit is unzipped down to just over her breasts and it just  _ screams  _ femme fatale in a way that is  _ so  _ unreal. It feels like an oil slick over your senses, slimy and gross.

 

“Can you- whatever you’re doing, can you stop?” You say, trying not to let your unnerved state show. Romanov looks at you, the tilt of her head showing off her alluring jawline. 

 

“Pardon?” She asks.

 

“You’re putting on this like- weird, sexy act, and I get it- it’s a spy thing, you know, femme fatale and all that, but it’s just- it’s uncomfortable.” You say. “It’s such a clear front that it’s embarrassing. So just drop it. Plus it’s like- vaguley pedopheliac? I’m sixteen.”

 

Romanov looks at you for a moment longer and for one wild second you go  _ oh shit did I just fuck up _ , but then something in her stance shifts and that weird, fake expression slides of her face, replaced by neutrality. She tugs the zipper on her bodysuit up.

 

“Thanks.” You say, relieved. 

 

“Sure.” She agrees, and it’s flatter, more emotionless, but it feels more real. When she starts walking again, the sway to her hips is gone, she’s striding instead of sauntering. You have to pick up your pace to match her, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered by it. 

 

“Welcome to SHIELD.” She says as she swipes a card to open a door to a living space, and it feels weirdly like you passed a test. “This room is yours to do whatever you want with, as long as you don’t ruin the walls.”

 

“What is this, a college dorm room?” You joke stepping inside. It’s a box, basically, with a bed and a desk. The walls are a flat grey color. “How dreary. I’m definitely gonna have to turn into Martha-fucking-Stewart, gotta accessorize up in this bitch and bring a pop of color.” 

 

You think you see her mouth twitch in amusement, out of the corner of your eye. Score.

 

=> Dave: Get Shown Around

 

You don’t really have anything to put in your room right now, but you notice that as you leave, the panel on your door now has your name on it. D. STRIDER. Neat. The power of electronics. 

 

Romanov takes you on a little tour of the buildings, calling it the “New York Office”. She shows you:

  * the cafeteria
  * the ranges for agents to practice their firearms (you wistfully think of Jade)
  * the gyms for agents to work out (including a ridiculous jungle gym that looks incredibly dangerous and also really cool)
  * a couple of break rooms and what looks like casual hangout areas (shady spy agencies apparently get sweet arcade machines to play on their break)
  * medical (where you comply with the medics who give you the first of what they called ‘a course of vaccines and boosters to get you properly medicated’)
  * and an equipment warehouse where you pick up a company-issued tablet 



 

The entire time during the tour, you’re meeting people. Romanov tells you that agents are naturally nosy and gossip like children. 

 

So, consorts, basically. 

 

You can’t remember everyone’s names- you’re not even going to try. You field all of their questions easily with your signature cool demeanor. Romanov whisks you away after a handful of minutes at each place, so they can’t exactly wiggle under your skin, but it does get annoying after the third or fourth time. 

 

At least the medics don’t care about making chit-chat. They just want to get you taken care of and out of there.

 

Once you return to your room, Romanov takes the tablet and walks you through some stuff. How to request supplies for your room, how to get onto the level-three wifi and communication systems. She sets you up with a SHIELD email and you’ve already got a welcoming message from Coulson and a meme in your inbox from Barton. She shows you how to submit problems that you encounter, be it with people, equipment, or other, and she shows you how to view schedules for rooms that can get locked down by request, such as ranges, though she warns that you will need supervising if you desire to use it, at least until you’ve been cleared for gun safety.

 

It’s weirdly nice now that she’s not putting on that fake-sexy front. She’s very to-the-point about the whole thing. 

  
Also SHIELD just apparently lets teenagers handle guns. That’s weird, but hey, whatever! Spy agencies. Go figure, right?

 

She sets you up with direct messaging to herself, Barton, and Coulson, also getting you connect to the level three chatroom, before finally leaving you be. 

 

God, you’ve only been in this world for eight hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-two seconds and fifteen-eighteen- milliwhatever- and you feel  _ exhausted _ . 

 

=> Dave: Sleep

 

Fuck yeah. You pass the fuck out.

 

=> Dave: Have a Weird Dream

 

You do, but when you wake up, you can’t really remember much of it. Colors everywhere, like a weird LSD trip. You remember a sense of vague urgency and panic.

 

Brains are weird.

 

You check your tablet, it’s 4:02 AM and you can feel your time sense sighing in relief as it finally slots properly into the time of this world. Everything smoothes out and your brain stops feeling like there’s a hammer waiting to come down on you if you sneeze wrong. The cogs start turning again.

 

You can’t help but check your pesterchum again, sending just a basic ‘hey’ to everyone on your contacts list, but every message bounces. You close pesterchum, rather than stare at all the offline contact handles of your friends.

 

Instead, you open the SHIELD casual communication service (the SCCS, wow that's a boring acronym, pesterchum is a much better name).

 

Romanov was right. The chat really is bumping. But… all grey, really? Boooooring.

 

JNEWM: whats the word? is he a field agent or what?   
LALLE: are you stupid? Like actually?  
LALLE: he looked like. Fifteen.

 

Aw, they’re talking about you.

 

LALLE: if he’s a field agent I will eat the next requisition sheet I get.  
JNEWM: i bet itll be from hill herself. then youll be sorry  
LALLE: sure. bet you fifty bucks  
JNEWM: ur on  
VJACO: Come on guys! I bet he’s just a visitor!  
JNEWM: yeah right he was being shown around by the spider  
JNEWM: THE. SPIDER.  
JNEWM: no way hes just some casual visitor

You decide to chime in. Spider? Has to be some kind of nickname for Romanov.

 

DSTRI: nah me and tasha are cool  
DSTRI: best buds  
DSTRI: shes my homegirl who decided to let me around her work for a day  
DSTRI: you know how it is  
JNEWM: oh jesus  
DSTRI: bffs on sight  
DSTRI: forever and ever  
DSTRI: matching necklaces up in this bitch  
DSTRI: ill drop by her office later  
DSTRI: say whats up tasha  
DSTRI: you feel up for coffee  
DSTRI: lets get that triple-pump-caramel-latte-monstrosity  
DSTRI: you still watching your weight  
DSTRI: is that a thing youre doing  
DSTRI: cool lets get you that low carb muffin  
DSTRI: heart attack in a cup but gotta keep those calories off your hips  
DSTRI: why yes i will be getting that triple chocolate cookie  
DSTRI: thank you for asking  
DSTRI: oh youre going to pay  
DSTRI: how nice  
DSTRI: dont worry ill pick up the check next time  
DSTRI: you know i love those coffee and gossip times of ours  
LALLE: how do you type so fast  
DSTRI: its a gift  
JNEWM: you called her tasha. ill pray for you  
DSTRI: no prayers needed shes got my back  
JNEWM: you poor soul  
DSTRI: so do we need to do like  
DSTRI: regulation handles and colors  
DSTRI: is that a mandatory thing  
LALLE: i never really thought about it  
VJACO: No, I don’t think it’s mandatory! I just think it’s what everyone uses anyway because remembering people’s handles is hard when they’re custom.  
DSTRI: fucking sweet hold on then

 

=>Dave: Reclaim Your Handle. Be The God

 

You mess around with the settings until you figure out how to change your handle and color. Fuck. Yes.

  
  


DSTRI => turntechGodhead [TG]  
TG: hell yea thats better  
TG: return of the red  
TG: no more of these drab grey shackles  
JNEWM: you know what  
JNEWM: i agree  
JNEWM: VIVA LA REVOLUTION  
JNEWM => swagman [SM]  
SM: oh my god thats already so much easier to read  
LALLE: im going to laugh at you when some tech comes cracking down on your head with all the force of a pissed of computer nerd  
SM: excuse u i am the computer nerd  
SM: i can change my shit if i want to  
VJACO: You know? I think I will too!  
VJACO => Carmellian [CARM]  
CARM: If I want to use a cute color, then I will!  
TG: thats the attitude  
TG: gotta throw off the shackles of imprisonment  
TG: take your own destiny into your hands  
TG: be your own person  
TG: live your own dream  
NROMA: Dave, Coulson would like me to inform you that you can change your handle as you wish in the SCCS, but over professional communications you have to keep your assigned handle.  
TG: sweet   
TG: hey tasha  
TG: wanna get coffee  
NROMA: Sure. I’ll treat.  
TG: thanks i dont have any money  
NROMA: I know. Noon okay?  
TG: sure  
NROMA: See you then.  
LALLE: okay i think i need some explanations right now  
TG: nah i gotta go get ready for my big date  
TG: later  
LALLE: wait!!!!

 

You close out of the chat, snickering to yourself. You might have just started a revolution in the chatroom. You saw the way Romanov’s text was a nice solid black instead of the boring grey. 

 

There’s gotta be a way to drop the chatroom onto your ishades. It seems like the agent gossip is gonna be the main source of entertainment around here, you wouldn’t want to miss out. 

 

=> Dave: Get Ready For Coffee

 

You absolutely would, except for the fact that it’s 4 in the morning. Wait, why was Romanov up? Whatever, it’s not like it’s any of your business what Romanov does.

 

Instead, you go back to bed.

 

Well. 

 

You try to. Your brain keeps circling back to dumb topics. After the third or fourth time wondering if this world had Obama as a president, you decide to get off your ass and start crawling through the internet instead.

 

Oh sweet jesus. Pop culture, how you have been missed.

 

You spend the next four hours pouring over the internet and watching dumb youtube videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer because it took me forever to figure out how to pesterchum. even now i dont really like the way it turned out. maybe i can fix it in the future


	5. => Dave: Get Coffee and Figure Shit Out

=> Dave: Go Get Coffee With Romanov

 

After a breakfast in the cafeteria where you are left relatively alone and consume your food in peace, you spend a couple of hours wandering around and testing where you are and aren’t allowed to go. It’s getting to be close to noon by the time you decide to head back to your room to meet Romanov, but you run into her on your way back.

 

“Ready to go?” She asks you, a casual-fake smile on her face. It itches at you a bit, but it’s nothing like the weirdness of yesterday, so you let it slide. She’s wearing clothing that’s actually acceptable for casual wear, a white blouse and black pants.

 

“Sure thing.” You agree. She brings you to a big garage, snagging keys from a man at a desk, and slides into a sleek black car. You guess that SHIELD has a thing for black cars, but hey, they have an image to upkeep. You drop into the passenger seat and she takes you out of the garage and whoa suddenly New York.

 

Like, rationally you understood you were in New York, but it was weird, while you were inside that building, you kind of… forgot the outside world was a thing. Like the world had turned into “spy land”.

 

Man, and that was only after one day. You wonder if this spy shit is gonna start fucking with your head.

 

“So, what kind of coffee do you like?” You ask, slouching against the window. You don’t really want to sit in a car in silence for however long it takes you to get where you’re going.

 

“You mean you don’t think my favorite coffee really is a triple pump caramel latte monstrosity?” Romanov asks, amused.

 

“Nah.” You shrug. “You seem more like a chai tea kinda person. You ever think about how chai tea is just ‘tea tea’? It’s just tea twice. Makes you wonder about the naming abilities of some people.”

 

Romanov makes a noise to indicate she’s listening. She looks more relaxed, behind the wheel. Maybe she’s just not a people person? Or maybe she just doesn’t like the closed-in-ness of the SHIELD building. You get it, like, shit, it’s nicely decorated and the walls are painted in nice colors, but it’s still a closed-in-space.

 

But whatever, you take that noise as an indication to keep going.

 

“It’s something that’s everywhere.” You say. “Naan bread. Chai tea. Paper gami. Okay that last one was a dumb store in Austin, not a widely accepted name, but whatever. You get my point. It’s just thing, same thing in a different language.”

 

=> Dave: Ramble

 

You spend the next twenty minutes rambling about names. Shit’s weird. Romanov doesn’t really contribute much, but she makes noises like she’s listening and occasionally interjects so it’s not like you’re talking to a blank wall.

 

But she stops the car outside of a small coffee shop in a nice-ish neighbourhood and the two of you get out, going inside.

 

It takes you a minute to look over the menu and order, but then the two of you are sitting down at a table with your drinks.

 

Natasha did, in fact, order a caramel monstrosity of a frappe. You actually don’t really like coffee, so you get hot chocolate with a shot of mint. Fuck yeah.

 

“So.” Natasha says, idly shoving her drink around with her straw. “This world much different than yours?”

 

You shrug a bit.

 

“I poked around on the net last night.” You say. “Didn’t reach much news, though.”

 

“Mm.” Natasha makes that noise again. That ‘go-ahead-I’m-listening’ noise. You oblige.

 

“Yeah, mostly watched dumb youtube videos.” You take a sip. God you’ve missed coffee shop drinks. “It was nice to destress. Also it was good to see Obama again. Barak’s the man.”

 

“Oh?” Natasha tilted her head curiously. “President Obama served a term in your world?”

 

“He sure did.” You agree. “Who knows, maybe he’s a universal constant. Fated to be a leader.” You idly start composing a rap about it. _The hippest prez, fated to lead…_

 

“That would be interesting to think about.” Natasha mused. “What other similarities might be drawn between your universe and ours? I bet the researchers would be very interested to start drawing parallels.”

 

“Y’all got Con Air?” You ask, glancing at the TV in the corner of the cafe and thinking wistfully of John.

 

“Con Air? The movie?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I guess you do.” You grin at her. “One of my friends is gonna be glad to hear that dumb movie still exists.”

 

=> Dave: Start Asking Questions

 

“So,” you say, “what’s gonna happen to me, ‘Tasha?”

 

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

 

“I mean the whole-” you make a vague gesture with your drink, “traveler bit. Am I just gonna stay with SHIELD forever? Settle in? Join the military of secret forces?”

 

“That depends.”

 

“On what? Come on, don’t leave me hanging bro, I’m sure these questions need to get answered sooner or later.”

 

“It depends on you.” Natasha said mildly. “What do you want to do?”

 

“Aw, come on.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Don’t try and flip this back on me, I’m asking _you._ What’s gonna happen to me and my friends?”

 

“I’m not flipping it, Dave.” Natasha blinked slowly, smiling at you. It looked like wax.

 

“Stop that.” You snap. The expression slides off of Natasha’ face.

 

Uh.

 

That was weird. Why did that… bother you?

 

Her neutral expression feels so much easier to deal with, though. It’s familiar. A flat wall.

 

“It depends on your and your friends, Dave.” Natasha said, her tone flat. “What do you want? What will you do? If you wish to integrate into society peacefully, then we will assist you with that. If you are hostile, then we will need to take you down. If you and your friends merely wish to stay here for some time before moving on, then we will assist you with that as well.”

 

Well that was refreshingly straightforward. No bullshit time jumping around just for some straight answers.

 

“So what’s the catch?” You ask.

 

“Did you miss the line where if you are hostile, we will take you out?” Natasha asked, some of the flat wall slipping away as she raised an eyebrow.

 

“Nope.” You lean back in your chair. “What’s the catch?”

 

“Asides from cooperating with our R&D teams, nothing.”

 

“Bullshit.” The word slips out. “You really expect me to believe that?”

 

“It’s the truth, Dave.” Natasha says. “We don’t make a habit of imprisoning or treating other unkindly. Our mission is to protect the world, but senselessly angering people makes no sense.”

 

That rings true. You feel something in your shoulders relax.

 

“Alright.” You agree. “I believe you.”

 

Natasha gives a faint smile.

 

“We’re not the bad guys, Dave.” She says. “I know we’re a shady government organization, but we do our best.”

 

You’re willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

 

“So does that mean I can become an actual agent?” You ask, mildly interested in the idea. SHIELD seems like its a pretty weird organization, but you’re willing to bet they’re fairly powerful. When your friends turn up, you want to be the first to reach them.

 

“If you want.” Natasha agreed, looking you over. “We can go over your skills in a more private place, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

 

“Sweet.” You say and take a drink. The TV over Natasha’s shoulder changes it’s story, and you barely refrain from spitting out your drink.

 

**TONY STARK, AKA IRON MAN - BELOVED HERO OR DANGEROUS THREAT?**

 

You read the headline as it scrolled across the screen over some kind of breakfast club looking group sitting around a news table, chatting it up while on mute.

 

No way.

 

Natasha has her eyebrow raised at you again, and it hits you like a flailing fish to the face, the pieces clicking together. Why the names seemed familiar.

 

_Tony Stark. Natasha Romanov. Clint Barton._

_Iron Man. Black Widow. Hawkeye._

 

Oh my god.

 

You’re in a Marvel Universe.


End file.
